


Five Times

by Jabberwocky (Sisterwives)



Category: Overwatch (Video Game)
Genre: Five Kisses Challenge, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-11-02
Updated: 2016-11-02
Packaged: 2018-08-28 13:43:58
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,063
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8448241
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Sisterwives/pseuds/Jabberwocky
Summary: The first five times Junkrat and Roadhog kissed.





	

**Author's Note:**

> There's definitely a bit that involves a sharp object in a wound so you might want to just skim the beginning of #5. I felt like I should warn you.

The first time they kissed was an accident.

Junkrat regretted every decision in his life that had led to him being stuck where he was. Junkers had tailed him all the way to Melbourne. It had been simpler to avoid them in the Outback, where there was plenty of wide open space. Fewer places to hide, sure, but they could always make a quick getaway, especially with Roadhog's chopper. In the city, however, it was easier to get boxed in with nowhere to go. Nowhere to go but up, that is.

He'd run out of grenades somewhere around the fourth destroyed building, when he'd taken out the cop bots that had showed up, and he was out of ammo when the most persistent hostile Junker cornered him. He'd deployed a trap, hoping to slow him down by ensnaring him in its metal jaws, and tossed out his last concussion mine. The Junker, who had been screaming in agony and was trying to pry the bear trap off his leg, quieted down to look at him in suspicion.

Junkrat could see the cogs in his head turning as he tried to figure out what crazy thing he was about to do. It was funny, really, and he had to laugh at his expression. Still, he wasn't about to stick around; the Junker would work his way out of the trap and be even more spitting mad. Broken bones didn't deter Junkers.

Junkrat leapt on the mine and pressed the detonator mid-air, the resulting explosion launching him through the air with a gleeful shout of "Kaboom!"

It had been exhilarating, and he'd had the time of his life flying, but now he was on the rooftop of an alarmingly tall building with no way down. It was too tall to jump, unless he wanted to lose his other leg. He felt like a cat stuck in a tree, bristling at the realization that he'd gone from one sticky situation to another. “Well,” he said aloud to no one in particular. “You’ve really gone and put yer foot in it now, haven’t ya.” He sniffed, recognizing the sizzling sound and familiar smell of burning hair.

He licked his fingers and snuffed out the flame, then squatted down, shading his eyes from the sun to squint at the Junker below him. He’d worked his way out of the trap and was stomping on it viciously, shattering all of his hard work. Junkrat couldn’t help but whimper and clutch his chest. “My baby!” He put so much love into his death traps, it was heartbreaking to see them in pieces.

He’d make Roadhog gather up the broken fragments -- maybe he could salvage something out of what was left.

Where _was_ Roadhog, anyway? Junkrat scratched his head. It wouldn’t be terribly hard to find him, the man wasn’t exactly subtle.

As if on cue, he heard the familiar sound of Roadhog’s deep, chilling laughter as he burst into the alley, scrap gun blazing. Junkrat grinned wildly, clapping his hands in delight as he watched Roadhog gun down the other Junker. Served him right. That’s what he got for destroying his steel traps and trying to threaten his secret out of him. “I knew I kept you around for a reason.” He raised his voice, waving his arms. “Oi, I’m up here! Roadhog!”

Roadhog, who had been examining the broken pieces of his trap for some kind of clue as to where he’d gone, looked up. Junkrat could _see_ him heave a huge sigh. He grinned and shrugged sheepishly.

“Gone and got myself in a bit of a jam here, mate. Mind givin’ me a hand?”

Roadhog gave him more than a hand and fired his chain hook at him. Junkrat sprang back, fingers just barely closing around the blunt curve of his hook before Roadhog yanked it back. He went soaring through the air and crashed into Roadhog, who stumbled back but caught him in his arms nonetheless.

Junkrat’s peals of laughter rang out, bouncing off the alley walls. “Oh, you’re a beaut, you’ve gotta do that again!” He didn’t even think -- and that was always his problem, wasn’t it? -- he just grabbed Roadhog’s face and planted an impulsive kiss on his forehead.

A long moment of silence stretched between them. They stood there, Roadhog still holding Junkrat, Junkrat still cradling his face. The pool of blood leaking out of the dead Junker’s corpse spread, puddling around their feet.

Junkrat released his grip. “Sorry, don't know what came over me there. Got caught up in the moment, I suppose.”

Roadhog grunted and set him down on the ground. Neither of them mentioned it again.

\---  
  
The second time was a thank you.

Junkrat was royally pissed off. Madder than a cut snake, as the saying went. “Gonna kill ‘em all,” he muttered darkly. “The pigs, the cop bots, that fuckin’ suit -- who does he think he is, settin’ us all up like that--” He ran into Roadhog, who had stopped dead in his tracks. “Oi, what’s the big idea?” He rubbed his bumped head and looked up at Roadhog.

They’d escaped the demolished Hyde Global factory and were winding their way through the side streets of Sydney to return to the corporation that had tried to eliminate them. Roadhog was simply staring down at Junkrat, and it was making him nervous. “What you lookin’ at me like that for, big guy?” He tried to remember if he had done something in recent memory to piss him off. Was he mad that Junkrat had blown up the building with no regard to the (non-existent) hostages? Or was he annoyed that he’d suggested they go legit in the first place?

Roadhog finally spoke. “Thank you.”

Well, that  was unexpected. “What’re ya thanking me for, you’re the one who just pulled my arse outta the fire!” Quite literally too, he would have been toast if Roadhog hasn't yoinked him out of the line of fire.

“That’s my job,” Roadhog replied. “I’m supposed to do that. You didn’t have to come to my defense.”

“Oh!” Junkrat recalled chucking a hunk of scrap at the cop who had had the fucking _gall_ to call Roadhog fat. “Course I did, the bastard insulted you. What was I supposed to do, let him get away with that?”

“He was right,” Roadhog pointed out. “You know that.” Of course Junkrat knew that; he teased Roadhog about his weight all the time. But that was different, and he said so.

“Well, no one's allowed to say so but me. He was being an asshole. Me, I say it with affection.” He poked Roadhog's tummy, right in the middle of his pig’s face tattoo. “I like that you're tubby.”

Roadhog chuckled, low and deep, and Junkrat got the impression that he was smiling beneath his gas mask. “Thanks.” He pressed the snout of his mask to the top of Junkrat's head, and Junkrat went stiller than he had ever been. For such a seemingly innocuous gesture, it felt strangely intimate. He couldn't shake the thought that Roadhog was kissing him, even through the barrier.

He liked it, and for once, he kept his gob shut. He didn't want to ruin the moment out of fear that Roadhog would never do it again.

“You look ridiculous,” Roadhog said when he pulled away and saw the dopey smile plastered across Junkrat's face.

The moment was broken. “Really? After all I've done for ya, that's how you repay me? Yer killin’ me, Roadhog.”

“Don't tempt me,” Roadhog rumbled. “At least then you'd be quiet.”

Junkrat laughed. “Roight, fair enough.” He prodded Roadhog's belly again. “Now move it, ya heifer, I think it's high time we pay our suit friend a visit.”

\--

The third time was simple curiosity.

“Y’know, I can't believe I haven't seen yer face yet. How long have we been doing this again?” Time had a way of getting away from Junkrat. He genuinely couldn't remember how long ago he'd convinced Roadhog to be his enforcer for half of the spoils. It felt like he'd been with him his entire life.

“Long enough,” Roadhog answered.

“Long enough for me to get a little look-see at what you're hiding under there?” he persisted. If Roadhog had ever fully removed his mask, he'd never done so in front of Junkrat. He could drink through a straw, and he only pushed his mask up just far enough to eat.

“No.”

“Come on, it’s not like you’ve got somethin’ to hide…” Junkrat had only ever gotten a glimpse of the lower half of his face, but he happened to think it looked very nice.

“I said _no._ ” He could tell by the tone of his voice that Roadhog was deathly serious, so he dropped the subject for now.

“Fine then.” Junkrat laced his hands behind his head and looked up at the night sky. The stars shone bright in the Australian Outback, their bonfire the only source of light pollution. “How those frog legs doin’?”

“They’re ready,” Roadhog replied, pulling their dinner out of the fire.

Junkrat pushed himself upright, making grabby hands until Roadhog handed him his portion. He ripped into the frog with gusto. “A bloke I used to know told me this shit is some kind of delicacy in France. Don’t know if I buy that, but there it is. Got me thinkin’ though. What if we take this show on the road? Go international, like.”

“Hmm.” Roadhog considered it. He still hadn’t started eating. The frogs looked impossibly small in his massive hands.

Junkrat tore off another bite and swallowed. “What’re you waitin’ for? Bog in.”

Roadhog loosened the straps of his mask and pushed it up. Junkrat eyed him, the stubble that lined his strong jaw, the plump lips that he found so attractive the few times he’d seen them, the hint of a twisted scar that disappeared under the rest of his mask.

 _Fuck,_ did he want to see the rest of his face. Junkrat stuffed the rest of the frog in his mouth and scooted in front of Roadhog. “Sure I can’t convince ya to take the rest of that mask off?” he pleaded. He reached for Roadhog’s cheek, stubble bristling beneath his fingertips.

He got as far as brushing against the edge of the gas mask before Roadhog’s hand shot up and stopped him. “Junkrat,” he warned.

“I just don’t get it, mate! ‘Cause I gotta say, I like what I see.” He reached out with the hand that wasn’t trapped against Roadhog’s cheek and touched his lips. They were soft, and he wondered how they’d feel pressed against his own.

Then all at once, he was kissing Roadhog, his hands cupping his face. Roadhog went stone still as Junkrat crushed his lips against his. It took Junkrat a few moments to realize that the kiss wasn't being reciprocated.

He broke away and stared at Roadhog's still half-masked face. He couldn't gauge his reaction without seeing the rest of his features.

“Well, g’night!” Junkrat dove to the side and burrowed in the dirt, carving out a bed for himself. He kept his back turned and attempted to regulate his sharp, uneven breathing so that he could pretend to be asleep. He didn't know what had made him kiss his bodyguard, and he ordinarily would have laughed it off, but Roadhog's utter lack of response made it feel shameful. Shame wasn't an emotion he was accustomed to.

The next day, he was awoken when all of the breath was crushed out of him. He gasped, jerking awake to find that Roadhog had pressed none too hard on his chest.

“We need to talk,” he said, removing his hand so that Junkrat could struggle upright.

Junkrat giggled nervously. “Sure I don’t know what you’re talkin’ about, we got nothin’ to discuss.”

“Really? Nothing about last night?”

“Can't think of nothin’, nope.”

“If you're developing feelings for me, you--”

“Oh! You mean _that,_ ” Junkrat interrupted, as if he didn't know what Roadhog was referring to all along. He was outright panicking now, fingers twitching at his side. He didn't want Roadhog to finish that sentence. “Yeah, no, nah, 'course I don't have _feelings,_ I was just curious, that's all!” He rubbed the back of his neck. "Haven't kissed anyone in a long time, ya have nice lips, it just kind of happened. Don't mean nothin’.”

Roadhog stared at him for a long, uncomfortable moment, and Junkrat wished he could see his expression behind the mask.

“Whatever you say,” Roadhog finally said, and that was the end of that.

\---

The fourth time _was_ because of feelings.

The first place they visited when embarking on their international crime spree was Paris, France. Roadhog had argued that it would make more sense to begin with Asia and work their way around the world, but after years of subsisting off of less than stellar food, Junkrat was dead set on checking out the fancy cuisine of France.

“Gotta say, these ain’t what they’re cracked up to be,” Junkrat said, using his nail to pick out a bit of frog that had gotten stuck between his teeth. “Not much different than the kind we used to make, roight, Roadhog?” He drew out the ‘r’ of Roadhog’s name. He always loved the sound of it on his tongue.

Roadhog handed him the dipping sauce, the small bowl comically tiny in his hand.

Junkrat practically moaned at the taste. “Oh. Oh, okay, I take it back. They got us beat.”

They were sitting on the rooftop of a low building, shielded from the public eye by an oversized billboard. They had stuck up a snooty French restaurant (one of their more unusual ventures, but then, there was no score too small as far as they were concerned) and were enjoying the spoils.

The catchy jingle of an ice-cream truck rang out on the streets below them. Junkrat perked up. “Y’know, I could use a spot of ice cream to wash down this fine meal. Got a fiver?”

They stared at each other for a brief second before cracking up at the thought of _paying_ for their fix, Roadhog with a deep, wheezing belly laugh and Junkrat in high pitched hysterics.

“Oh, I tried,” Junkrat said, wiping a tear of mirth from the corner of his eye. “Tried to keep a straight face. Couldn't do it.” He peeked out from behind their cover, and his glee soured. The ice cream truck was pretty enough, pale pink with a giant soft-serve cone and the words “Glaces Artisinales” along the rear, but he could see a metal face through the service window. “They got a bloody omnic mannin’ the helm. I say the scrap-headed bastard deserves to have its truck blown up, don’t you?”

“Pretty sure it does.” Roadhog stood up and hefted his scrap gun. He jumped off the rooftop and landed on the ground with an earth-shattering thud. Junkrat cackled madly and scrambled to follow him.

Roadhog fired his hook, which sank into the back door of the ice cream truck, and promptly ripped it off its hinges. The door went sailing through the air and skidded along the pavement with a gritty crunch, while the stack of cones the poor omnic worker had been carrying went flying. He screamed and clutched his head in distress -- apparently he hadn’t been trained on how to handle this kind of situation. To be fair, most manuals didn’t include a section on what to do when two Junker maniacs were hellbent on tearing up your place.

Junkrat used the giant ice cream cone mounted on the truck as leverage to clamber on top of it and attach concussion mines all over the roof. He popped his head into the giant opening where the door once was, hanging upside down as he addressed the omnic. “Word of advice, mate. Better make like a banana and _split._ ” He laughed hysterically at his own pun and scampered for safety after tossing a grenade inside the truck, just for good measure.

A click of his detonator, and the ice cream truck exploded. Omnic body parts and ice cream bars went flying. Roadhog looted the demolished husk of the truck while Junkrat scooped up as much as he could carry off the ground. He was still trying to gather more fallen ice cream bars when Roadhog grabbed the chain of his RIP-tire and hauled him away.

“Come on!” The sound of sirens wailed in the distance, and they intended to be as far away from the scene of the crime as possible by the time the police arrived.

When they were safe and could sit and catch their breath, Junkrat divvied up what they had managed to collect and passed half of it to Roadhog. “There ya go: fifty-fifty.” The two of them looked at the mounds of ice cream. “...There’s no way we’re gonna be able to eat this all, are we?” It was already starting to melt.

“Probably not,” Roadhog agreed.

Junkrat shrugged and unwrapped a toasted almond ice cream bar. “Worth it,” he said.

Roadhog went for the strawberry, pushing his mask up so that he could indulge.

Junkrat eyed him as he sucked on his ice cream. Maybe it was the fact that they were in Paris, the City of Love, or maybe he was just finally coming to terms with his feelings for his bodyguard, but something in his charred black heart tightened when he looked at Roadhog.

The last time he had kissed Roadhog had ended badly, and he had avoided talking about it at all costs. But something tugged at him now, and he _desperately_ wanted to kiss him again.

He always had been bad at ignoring impulses.

He finished his ice cream and tossed the stick aside, then reached for Roadhog’s ice cream. “I’ll be taking that, thanks.”

Roadhog grunted, pulling it out of reach. “Get your own, there’s plenty like it.”

“I want _that_ one. But I guess yer the next best thing…” Junkrat gripped the sides of Roadhog’s chest harness and leaned up to kiss him.

There was a moment of brief terror where he was sure history was going to repeat himself and Roadhog wouldn’t respond. But he returned the kiss, the ice cream falling to the ground as he settled his hands on Junkrat’s waist.

Junkrat all but melted under his touch. Emboldened, he intensified the kiss, working his tongue into Roadhog’s mouth. He tasted sticky and sweet, the strawberry flavor lingering, and Junkrat loved it. He tried licking deeper, until Roadhog pushed him away.

“You have no finesse.”

Junkrat laughed breathlessly and wiped his mouth. “Teach me, then.”

“Someone has to.” Roadhog reached for a replacement ice cream bar and tossed it to Junkrat. The fifty-fifty divide of the spoils was beginning to blur. They were silent for a few minutes, the crinkling of wrappers the only sound, until Roadhog spoke again. “I knew you had feelings.”

Junkrat tried to toss his wrapper at Roadhog, but it fluttered uselessly in the air between them. “Oh, rack off, ya drongo. Fine, I admit it.” He paused, glancing shifty-eyed at his partner-in-crime. “What about you?”

Roadhog snorted and bit into his ice cream. “I tried to tell you after the last time you pulled this shit. You irritate the hell out of me.” Junkrat’s heart plummeted into the pit of his stomach. “Doesn’t stop me from caring.”

The emotional whiplash was astounding. Junkrat grinned at Roadhog, suddenly deliriously happy. “Cheers, mate.” He dug back into his ice cream and ate until he felt sick to his stomach.

\---

The fifth time was an apology.

Junkrat was bleeding out. He'd gotten shot by a trigger-happy cop: the first bullet had lodged itself in his shoulder while the second had clipped him, and he was losing blood fast.

He gasped like a dying fish, shuddery and uneven. His vision was swimming -- he could barely recognize the massive shape in front of him as Roadhog. He could hear the click of a lighter and it dimly registered that Roadhog was passing a knife through the flame to sterilize it.

“Hold still,” Roadhog said, one hand flat on Junkrat's chest to prevent him from twisting away. The white hot sting of the blade digging into his wound sent him in convulsions, the searing pain shooting through his entire body. He drew another ragged breath of air, unable to keep from whimpering as Roadhog worked the bullet out of his body.

Junkrat was used to pain. He had a high threshold for it, but this was on another level entirely. If the shell hadn’t been radioactive and potentially life-threatening, he would have argued to just leave the bullet in and let his body heal around it. As it was, he needed to get it out, but it wasn’t like he could seek out the help of a medical professional. He’d rather die than turn himself in to a hospital.

He swore as the knife pried out the bullet, blindly thrashing and clawing at Roadhog's restraining hand. Subconsciously, he knew he was helping, but the primal part of his brain that had kicked in didn't recognize that. He just wanted it to _stop,_ and he said so through a choked sob. Pain changed him, made him fragile and weak, a shuddery mess of a broken person.

Warmth trickled down his arm and pooled at the top of his prosthetic. He was bleeding freely now, blood gushing from the open wound. He breathed a shaky sigh, body still trembling, but the worst was over--

And then he felt the red-hot blade pressed against him to seal off the gaping hole. The cauterization was too much, and his body shut down as his world went dark.

Junkrat wasn't sure what woke him sometime later: the distant, throbbing pain of his shoulder, or the sound of Roadhog's voice.

“Junkrat.” Roadhog's hand supported his back, lifting him off the ground so a clean bandage could be wrapped around his shoulder. “Jamison -- _Jamie._ ”

He couldn't remember any other time that Roadhog had called him by his birth name. “That's me,” he blearily murmured, too exhausted to open his eyes.

There was a sigh of undisguised relief. “Sorry.”

“Ain’t yer fault, you’re not the pig who shot me.”

“I was responsible for stopping the bullet. I shouldn’t have left your side.”

“No worries,” Junkrat reassured him, shivering slightly as Roadhog’s fingers traced his jawline.

Then Roadhog’s lips were on his, jarring him into full consciousness. Junkrat automatically tried to reach for Roadhog’s face, but a fresh wave of pain rolled over him when he attempted to lift his mechanical arm, and he involuntarily whimpered against Roadhog’s mouth. He settled for cradling his cheek with his one good arm as he desperately returned the kiss.

It took him a moment to realize what felt different. He ran his fingers up the side of Roadhog’s face, touching skin that he had never felt before.

Junkrat broke away and cracked open his eyes. “Yer not wearin’ the mask.” He stared at Roadhog’s bare face, seeing him clearly for the first time. A deep, sunken scar cut through his left cheek and curved around his eye, while the right side of his face bore the signs of old burns, the flesh twisted and deformed. Junkrat reached up to feel the burns, the texture wrinkled but not unpleasant. Roadhog flinched at his touch.

“I like it. Were ya in a fire? That why yer lungs are so bad?”

Roadhog nodded, a faraway look in his deep brown eyes as he recalled smoke filling his lungs. “That, and the radiation.”

Junkrat struggled to sit up, his inability to put any weight on his right hand making it more difficult than it should have been. He slumped against Roadhog’s side. “Takes more than one lousy fire to put ya out of commission. Didn’t take away from yer dashin’ good looks either.” he added.

Roadhog snorted. “Thanks.” He hesitated, looking down at Junkrat. “Sorry I wasn’t there,” he reiterated. The whole ordeal had shaken him, if the troubled look on his face was any indication.

Junkrat waved his uninjured hand vaguely. “Y’can make it up to me by never leavin’ my side again, how’s that?”

Roadhog chuckled, chest heaving with his deep laughter. “It’s a deal.”

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading! I take prompts over at http://jabberwockyx.tumblr.com if you're interested!


End file.
